


We Fouls of Nature

by RaggsEnriches



Category: Cats - Andrew Lloyd Webber, Charité | Charité at War (TV), Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: Alternate Universes, Canon Related, Cats, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff, Ghosts?, Hair Gel, Kinda, M/M, Title from a Woods of Birnam song, crack fic!, ft. me: pretending as if I remember the timeline of this show, historical fiction (?), horror themes, this is literally cursed!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:07:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27985083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaggsEnriches/pseuds/RaggsEnriches
Summary: But where does all the hair gel come from?
Relationships: Otto Marquardt/Martin Schelling
Comments: 7
Kudos: 7





	We Fouls of Nature

**Author's Note:**

> I’m so sorry for this.  
> 
> 
> Full disclosure: I’ve written crack only once before. I will likely not be driven to write crack again. Is writing crack for a show with such heavy topics as Charite a good idea? At this point, that’s up for the audience, not me, to decide.  
> 
> 
> Tiny Disclaimer: this story does not require an in-depth knowledge of the plot of Hamlet, but if you do know Hamlet at all, you will be slightly better off than those who don’t. For those people, I’m sorry, maybe go read/watch a version of Hamlet if you want, it doesn't really matter, hopefully the plot explains itself. (If you’ve seen the Lion King you know the plot already.)  
> 
> 
> As a sort of “one year anniversary of being stuck in Charite hell” for myself, I wrote … this. Shoutout to the Charite discord server for convincing me/keeping me motivated to write it (those of you who did know who you are, those of you who have watched this happen, I’m so sorry). This story wrote itself, and I mean that in the most sincere way possible. I had little to no artistic control - once again, I’m so dreadfully sorry.  
> 
> 
> Here and now, I will attempt to answer the most important question in the whole show: Where does all of the hair gel in the 1940s come from?  
> 
> 
> Enjoy (?)

The sun was rising slowly outside his window. There was a sense of complacency in the air that Otto couldn’t quite identify an exact reason for, not that he would have wanted to. Not when he could gaze gently at Martin and fully relax.  


It was only about 6 in the morning, after all. Otto loved these moments where they lay curled against one another, successfully ignoring the fear that anyone might walk into the prosthesis shop and discover their secret. Such time was rare and fleeting in the dangerous days they faced.  


“Otto?” Martin asked with a sleep-drenched voice a few minutes later. Apparently he was not the only one woken by the sun.  


“Good morning,” He said.  


“Is it even 7?”  


“No.” Otto shook his head, unable to stop the dopey grin that spread across his face.  


“We do need to get up soon…” Martin muttered.  


They did, in fact, but Otto wasn’t prepared to leave the warmth of the mattress just yet. He always regretted getting up on mornings like this one.  


“Otto…” Martin said a few minutes later, when Otto had started to drift off again into his thoughts. “We really do need to get up.”  


“Alright…” He sighed, and started moving so that Martin could clamber around him and off the bed.  


They began the slow ritual of putting on various pieces of clothing, all the while resisting the urge to drag one another back to bed. Otto moved to kiss Martin gently on the back of the neck a couple of times, but was pushed softly away so as to avoid further delay. Despite the relative privacy of the room now, it was never promised it would remain so later.  


When Otto moved to grab his bottle of hair gel, he was shocked to find that it was empty.  


“Martin?”  


“Mmm?” The other hummed from near the window where he was tucking his shirt into his trousers.  


“Do you have more gel?” Otto asked, “I’m out.”  


“Man has never known such a catastrophe.” said Martin. It was clear from his voice that he was grinning.  


“Stop that right now and help me!” Otto placed his hands on his hips and made sure to pout as excessively as possible. “I’m your maiden in distress, and you’re doing a terrible job of playing the role of the dutiful knight.”  


“I’m afraid I never was very good at slaying dragons.” The older man moved to stand next to Otto. “We’ll have to see if there is any left in the supply closet on the second floor.”  


“Sauerbruch probably stole all of that.” Otto said.  


“Yes, with his mighty mane of hair I’m sure he’s the guilty party.”  


But Martin was true to his word on the promise that they’d check the supply closet, and soon enough they’d left the room and walked through the silent halls to their desired destination. The closet was a wide one, with several shelves full of whatever materials were most easily kept stocked.  


Otto was searching one of these incredibly full shelves - he had no idea how they’d kept such a big supply of gauze in the middle of a war - when Martin made a surprised noise from behind. When he turned around, his lover was nowhere to be seen.  


“Martin?” He said into the sudden quietness of the little room.  


“Here!” Martin replied from the farthest corner, which was in fact shrouded in near darkness. “I found something.”  


Carefully, Otto climbed over several large crates on the floor and managed to squeeze into the corner only to find that the corner had disappeared.  


In its place was only darkness. There was no place where two walls met, only a blackness that stretched on and on and on. Martin’s hand suddenly gripped his arm: he jumped a little. Martin laughed.  


“It’s just me,” Martin said.  


“What a relief.” Otto replied, rolling his eyes as he stepped closer to where Martin stood. It was nigh impossible to make anything out in the odd night that surrounded them. 

“What… is this?”  


“You’re the one who I thought might know. Look.”  


He looked into the darkness and found that, oddly enough, he could make out several shapes in the darkness. Stacks of… bottles. Otto reached out, careful to keep Martin’s hand in his own, and picked one up.  


“It’s - you won’t believe this, Martin, but it’s hair gel.”  


“How long have you been here? I assumed this was where you got your hair gel from.” Martin asked. Otto couldn’t see his face, but he knew the man was looking at him in confusion.  


“I had a stash from the days in the Wehrmacht. I’ve never run out before.” Otto said.  


“Well, looks like there’s quite enough here to go around. I wonder why…” Martin didn’t finish the thought, yet Otto knew what he was about to say.  


“It doesn’t feel like this is anyone’s doing.”  


“Well, whoever’s responsible, I suggest you take a bottle and see if it burns all of your wonderful hair off.” Martin said.  


Otto decided that one was the best option for now. Better to be safe rather than sorry.  


“Shall we?” suggested the other man from the darkness, and Otto squeezed his hand to signal that yes, they shall.

  


The dark void in the supply closet did not cross Otto’s mind for the rest of the day. He’d used the hair gel without any terrible side effects. It seemed perfectly safe, so he wasn’t too concerned about what the space might actually be.  


Neither of them brought it up that evening. The only occurrence that he thought might’ve been a tad off was the fact that his dreams that night were incredibly vivid; and Otto never remembered his dreams.

  


When he brought it up to Anni the next day, she stared at him incredulously from across the table.  


“You found hair gel in the supply closet?” She asked, finally breaking the silence that she’d been the one to start. “In the… corner?”  


“Well, I’m not exactly sure it was the corner.” He said.  


“What?”  


“I… nevermind.” Otto replied, shaking his head. She wouldn’t believe him anyway.  


“Otto, are you sure you’ve been getting enough sleep?”  


“Yes, I’m sure. I know I found hair gel in that supply closet.”  


He wasn’t going to mention that Martin was there too. She knew they were close friends, but never questioned the nature of their relationship beyond that, something he was grateful for despite the fact that it often felt like he lied to her constantly everyday. He despised lying to his own sister.  


“Was there a lot of it?” Anni said, the upper left corner of her lip curving ever so slightly.  


“Now you’re just teasing me!” He said. “I won’t say anymore.”  


Anni only hummed at that. She didn’t bring the topic up again; Otto didn’t try to either, deciding it was best if this was something between Martin and himself for now. Maybe someone else knew about the strange corner in the corner of the supply closet, in which case he knew he needed to start addressing the topic with his peers. 

  


The following week, after Otto had been using the gel for some time, Martin mentioned the corner again.  


“I think we need to see if it’s still there.” He suggested. Otto froze, cup of terrible, watery, rationed coffee inches from his mouth.  


“Why?”  


“If you don’t want to, that’s fine, but I wanted to make sure it was still there.” Martin said, eyes watching him carefully. “We might as well bring a light this time too.”  


“It’s not that I don’t wish to, Martin. It’s that… I’ve asked a few people and no one knows what I’m talking about. Do you think maybe it was some sort of shared hallucination?” He replied. He’d asked a few of the other nurses and their reactions had been just as incredulous as Anni’s.  


Martin was silent for a moment.  


“We should check.”  


“Alright. But I hope you know I want it not to be there.” Otto said.  


It was a half-truth. He really didn’t want to know if they were hallucinating or not, but the gel was perhaps the best stuff on the market and during these times, he definitely appreciated it.  


When they’d finished their meager breakfast, Otto followed Martin out of the flat - careful to check for anyone in the hall who might question their being together at such a time in the morning - and into the main building of the hospital. The storage room was as quiet as always.  


Otto turned the light on. There, in the corner, the darkness stretched out in it’s vast, neverending manner.  


He moved to it, Martin close behind. The piles of gel were still there.  


“You’ve returned…” a voice hissed from beyond the gel. Otto froze, and felt Martin bump into him slightly.  


“Hello?” He whispered, barely daring to speak any louder.  


“Hello, stranger.” said the same voice. It had no recognizable gender attached to it - and it definitely didn’t have a body either. “I see you have found my … collection. No need to be scared: all who hail the hair are welcome.”  


“Hail the what?” Otto said softly. He tried to look back at Martin but couldn’t find his face in the dark again.  


“You may call me... well, truthfully I don’t care what you call me.” They said. “I’m here to guide you on the path towards your true self.”  


“Otto…” Martin said from behind, voice full of warning.  


“Your true self has been hidden for so long! Both you, Otto, and you, Martin, need this more than you realize. Step forward into my light.”  


For some reason, he wanted to move forward. Apparently Martin shared this gut instinct because they both moved at the same time into a strange circle of bluish light. In front of them a shadowy figure floated just beyond the edge of the area that was visible.  


“That’s it.” The shadow sounded as though it was purring like a cat. Otto squinted into the darkness.  


“What are you?” He asked cautiously, fully aware that Martin shot him a glare at daring to ask further questions of this thing.  


“What am I? I’m afraid that is not something you find out unless you are willing to join me.”  


“Joining you sounds…” Martin said.  


“I know, I know it sounds dangerous. But I promise I’m only here to help you…and who wouldn’t help an ancient god reclaim their status?” It said.  


“Is it alright if we wait to give you an answer?” Otto replied after a moment of silence.  


“I’d rather you give me your exact intentions now… if you promise to return by tomorrow, then we can hold off your agreement.”  


“Fine.” Martin picked up where Otto was unable to. 

When they’d finally left the terrible corner and the horrid storage room, Otto turned to look at Martin. He was pale as a sheet.  


“I… Martin?”  


“Yes?”  


“Why do I want to see it again?”

  


They returned the following morning at exactly the same time as the day before. After a brief discussion concerning their mutual feeling of desire to figure out exactly what was going on - at least, that’s what they _pretended_ the feeling was about - Martin had determined it may yet be helpful to find out what the strange being in the storage room truly wanted. Perhaps it could serve the Charite in more ways than they thought.  


Otto wanted to believe so too; still, he found it unlikely it was anything other than an endless supply of hair gel with a voice.  


This time, the circle of light was much wider. He gripped Martin’s hand as they approached it, and then nearly fell backwards in shock. There, across from them, stood a cat.  


It was huge. It’s fur was midnight black, except for a spotting of white at the chest.  


“This can’t be real.” Martin said quietly from behind.  


“Welcome back,” said the cat, “I’m glad we could come to this arrangement.”  


“Do you have … a name?” Otto asked, scared to question the animal.  


“I suppose I shall give it to you. I’ve gone by many names, but most call me Mistoffelees.” The cat lifted a paw to scratch his ear. “I’ve been through a couple of rough patches since my debut. It’s only by chance that I started hoarding all of this hair gel almost ten years ago.”  


“You hoarded hair gel?” His lover sounded absolutely dumbfounded by the announcement.  


“I thought it might make a good business opportunity.” The cat said, and if cats were capable of shrugging, Otto was certain Mistoffelees would’ve. “You needn’t ask how I ended up in the Charite. I fear I’m as unaware of the answer as you are. No, the real focus of our meeting again should be about what you’re willing to do for me.”  


“Do you believe you deserve something in return? All you’re giving us is your… hair gel hoard.” replied Otto.  


“I’m a god! Of course I deserve something in return, my fine fellow. It’s simply a matter of what sacrifices can be made given the limited supply of virgins, sheep, dogs, or really any animal - other than rats of course.”  


“I think I speak for the both of us when I say we aren’t going to be sacrificing anything.” Martin said, and Otto nodded to make sure they got the point across.  


“Ah… I should’ve known better than to ask the army doctors to kill something for me.” Mistoffelees sighed. “I suppose I should mention I’m aware of your relationship - omnipotent god skills and everything - so if you don’t give me anything, I do have leverage.”  


“What else might be useful?” Otto asked quickly, fear racing through him at the thought of this ridiculous cat telling everyone about them.  


“Hmm…. worshippers.” said Mistoffelees.  


Strangely enough, Otto felt compelled to inform the cat that they were his worshippers. They were right in front of him!  


“I know it may feel as though two should be enough for a god as old as me… but I desire more than that in order to stay in a place for any lengthy period of time. If you spread my word around to those you work and live with, that may fill my quota.”  


“I’m not converting anyone to your - you, whatever this is.” Martin said. “Aren’t we enough?”  


“Ah.” Mistoffelees sounded far more confident than Otto was feeling. “I see. Well, then, I do have something I believe I could use you for that relates to my own wellbeing. You must promise to carry it out the way I instruct you.”  


“We’ll do anything, anything at all.” Otto said.  


“Fantastic. Give me some time, and I shall have the perfect mission for the both of you.”

  


It was another two weeks before anything monumental occurred. Otto started passing nurses and doctors near the storage room, looking confused as to why they stood in front of the door to the room and turning back. It was clear Mistoffelees’ presence affected even those who did not worship him in any capacity (or even know of his existence).  


“Ah, welcome.” Mistoffelees greeted them on a cool Friday morning. Otto nearly tripped as he walked up to the cat.  


Beside Mistoffelees was a glowing doorway, bright golden light seeping from every crevice. The void seemed slightly less oppressive, at least in the immediate area of the door.  


“What is that?” asked Martin, sounding breathless.  


“Oh, that’s your mission. Or shall I say, little misadventure, that I’m about to send you on to reclaim my godliness.” said the cat.  


“This wasn’t -” Otto started, but stopped when he saw the glare in the god’s eyes.  


“This is your payment. You wanted hair gel. This is your mission, and you’ve already accepted it - it is too late.”  


Without any further explanation of whatever hell-dimension they were about to enter, Mistoffelees shoved Otto towards the door with some sort of invisible force, Martin close behind. The door opened blindingly - and the void disappeared with an abrupt bang.

  


Otto opened his eyes slowly to find he was lying on a floor. It was cool, and he decided after a moment, definitely stone. Above him the sky was dark with a raincloud, and there was noise around him. Lots of noise.  


“Sire!” A voice called from above. Otto looked up to find a man standing above him in a very odd outfit. He looked like he was meant to be dressed as a soldier 200 years ago.  


He sat up and saw that the noise was… distant pounding. A thunderstorm.  


“My lord, art thou quite well?” The man said.  


“I…”  


“My lord! My lord!” That was - but it couldn’t be! Martin’s voice called out from above him, and soon two faces peered down at Otto curiously.  


“My lord Hamlet, didst the ghost exact his revenge upon your befuddled melon?” said the stranger.  


“Marcellus, it appears our lord Hamlet here knows not of what you speak.” Martin replied for him, when Otto - or was it _Hamlet_? - could only stare back in confusion. “What news, my lord? Of your father?”  


It took a moment for everything to come flooding back to him. His name was indeed Hamlet, he’d been on a mission to see his father’s ghostly form, and both Horatio and Marcellus wished to know of his father’s message. The revenge plot was meant to grant two things: his seat on the throne, and a certain god of magic his godliness. There was little else to do but inform them of the revenge plan that had been laid out before him.  


  


Mistoffelees appeared in a few short days to Otto’s great displeasure and confusion. He appeared in all of his feline glory at the end of Hamlet’s bedchambers, looking quite pleased with himself.  


“Ah, Hamlet.” He said. “Whereart thou heart?”  


“He hath gone out.” replied Otto, finding that it was easier to maintain the manner of speaking than he’d believed it would be.  


“I shall tell you of the plan and it must be relayed to Horatio.” Mistoffelees had slipped back into German. (Otto had found English to be quite annoying but surprisingly easy.)  


“Is the revenge of my own father not good enough?”  


“It is not what I need from this reality. You see, Hamlet, or shall I say… no, Hamlet still, a long time ago I slipped into this universe, this world, and found myself trapped. I do not wish to go into much detail but what is important to the both of us is that I lost my godliness in this plane of existence quite a few centuries back, and by the chances of how fate has written the world, everything hinges on your ability to not exact your full revenge.” said Mistoffelees. “Unfortunately, most of this will play out as it is meant to. I am sorry for the scarring I may leave you with, Otto.”  


“Scarring?” echoed Otto.  


“Emotionally this will not be easy. But when the time comes, you must not take up Laertes on his wish to fight you no matter what he says or what Claudius says. If you are successful in denying them this, you shall have your throne, Hamlet, and I shall have my godliness once more.” explained the cat, continuing to pace between the bookshelf and the desk.  


Hamlet was silent. His father, of course, had directed him to murder Claudius, to get the revenge necessary to restore Hamlet to the throne. But if there was a way to avoid his own death and to claim the throne, he would take it.  


“I will, of course, be taking care of the problem of Claudius once I have my godliness back. And Horatio and you will be well-suited for the kingdom you must reign. Heed my instructions, lad, or it will be devastating for all involved.” said Mistoffelees.  


“But I-” He said, or tried to, as a flash of light hit the room and Mistoffelees disappeared with it.  


Not five minutes later and he was returned to his solitary state within his chambers, pondering the odd words of a cat who could travel through worlds. 

  


Following the success of the play, Hamlet was sitting on his bed playing catch with a small book. Horatio sat in a chair near the bed.  


“Does something bother you, my lord?” Horatio asked kindly, sweetly - in the way that Martin asked for anything, with that same look on his sharp face he always had. It was the lack of glasses perched on his nose that Otto still couldn’t get over.  


“Naught but thy pretty eyes watching me from such a distance,” said Hamlet. A true flirt never openly said what they wanted.  


Horatio easily interpreted the command, and it wasn’t long before they lay beside one another on their bed, Hamlet peacefully lying with his back to Horatio’s chest the way Otto always allowed Martin to fold around him. Every few days it became difficult to play the roles they’d been thrust into. If it were a stage production, Otto figured he might’ve been better at ignoring the fact that he needed Martin near him at all times - but it appeared no one thought the amount of time Horatio spent with Hamlet was any different than what it used to be before…  


Well, before.  


“Hamlet?” asked Horatio, softly breaking through his thoughts.  


“Yes, my love?” Hamlet often said far more bold words than Otto could have ever managed.  


“Will thy plans leave room for my continued existence in thou’s bed?”  


“Of course.” Hamlet replied.  


The plans that granted Hamlet the throne would obviously allow Horatio to remain close. Many a night they’d discussed these plans thoroughly, but Hamlet knew there was the distinct fear that Ophelia would claim her place beside him. He could never allow for it. Not when Horatio’s gentle eyes looked at him with such fear behind them.  


“Ophelia shall never have her way. I believe she dost not even truly love me. Thou knowest this.”  


“I fear what may happen when the throne is secured.” Horatio murmured into the back of his neck, where he was laying gentle kisses.  


“My heart belongs to you, and only you, my dear Horatio.” said Hamlet. “I shall tell thee such sweet words as these for as long as it takes for them to settle.”  


“And my heart yours…” Horatio said, sounding weary.  


“Let us sleep on it.”  


“I cannot stay in thy chambers, Hamlet.”  


“I shall wake you by first light,” He rolled to the other side to face Horatio, “This I promise.”  


“If that’s well…” Horatio trailed off, eyes shutting before he could finish his thought. Hamlet smiled and raised an arm to wrap it around Horatio’s other side, settling in for another nearly sleepless night of plotting.

  


Hamlet watched the waves splash against the ship’s hull. The events leading up to this exact moment where he stood still made his head swim in confusion; but he knew he was on his path to Denmark once again, and everything was pointless without sweet Horatio at his side or the throne in the palm of his hand. (Horatio in the palm of one’s hand was, admittedly, a very pretty sight.)  


The message he’d sent days ago had certainly reached the eyes of his lover by this time. Any events that may have transpired in his absence could only have solidified his climb to power, and Claudius’ gradual defeat. The death of Polonius had been a surprise only to Otto - he’d spent the remainder of that day curled up in the corner of his room, shaking horrifically as his fate was decided for him. The strong words he’d spoken against Gertrude to her face were forgotten in the terror of killing a man.  


But Hamlet was sure in those same words, and sure in the fact that whatever awaited him back in Denmark could only bring his desires to light. 

  


“Thou shall not fight him.” Martin muttered in his ear as the procession filtered in, Laertes looking ripe for a fight. Otto nodded softly.  


Fighting would disable the plans Mistoffelees had for him. It was easy to want to simply throw his sword to the ground and refuse to partake in the envious motions of his uncle and the puppet the man controlled if it meant the throne was his.  


“I shall not fight thee.” Otto announced to the crowd. “I admit that there hath been some rather undeserved actions upon these grounds recently, but it is unwise of a leader to allow himself to fight to the death when compromise sits complacently in the corner.”  


Laertes looked as surprised as Hamlet thought he might. There was a round of whisperings amongst the servants and peasants who stood about the throne room. Claudius’ face was bright red.  


“Your promises are to be broken?” asked Laertes, implying that doing so would not actually aid Hamlet’s image.  


“Yes.” He said. From behind, Horatio placed a hand on the small of his back for a fleeting moment. “Osric called you here for this, not for a battle.”  


Another wave of silence.  


“I wish to claim my spot on the throne in a peaceful manner. The acts of madness are a temporary state, not my true self.” He looked to Gertrude, who’s face told of her relief.  


“It is my throne.” Claudius said, stepping forward.  


“Thy throne is a mere placeholder for the greater power.”  


A shift in the ground. A bright, blinding light, and the sound of gasps of horror from those around as something emerged from the light. It was Mistoffelees, standing proudly on all four of his fuzzy paws looking quite pleased with himself.  


“Ah,” He looked to Hamlet, “Thank you. I will be taking him away from you now. Enjoy your throne.”  


Claudius disappeared in a flash of light, and Hamlet shared one last glance with Horatio before Otto’s vision went dark. 

  


He awoke from the darkness of the unconscious mind to find he was still lying on the floor of the storage room. The window revealed that it was at least early evening. Martin was kneeling beside him, and when Otto lifted his head, no void stared back.  


“Mar-”  


“Hush, you hit your head pretty hard.” said Martin.  


“I have a hard head.” Otto said, smiling just ever so slightly. Martin rolled his eyes.  


“Either way I need to make sure you aren’t concussed.”  


“What… what happened?”  


“There’s an endless supply of hair gel lying in wait in the prosthesis workshop. And, well, we made it out.” replied Martin, shifting so Otto’s head was lying fully in his lap.  


“Made it out of where?” Otto asked, trying to remember anything before the moment he’d noticed the door beside Mistoffelees.  


“You don’t recall any of it?” Martin looked rightfully concerned.  


“I…” Otto started. Whisps of memories drifted back: an endless mental torture, treacherous family, and … Martin. Except not Martin at all, no, but they were still them and they were still sharing their love secretly. “I guess I do.”  


“Mistoffelees said you’d be the most affected, apparently being the ‘leading character’ does that to people.” said Martin with a shrug.  


“So we did it? It’s done?”  


“Well, we do have to pray to him every couple of days. But other than that, yes, I do believe we’ve quite fulfilled his needs.” said Martin.  


“Fantastic.” Otto let his eyes slip shut again for just a moment. “I’m going to be awfully grateful to have hair gel for the rest of my life, even if it does come from a god who’s made himself my mandatory religious idol.”

**Author's Note:**

> Very little research went into this other than figuring out a good god and digging out my sister’s old copy of Hamlet.  
> 
> 
> Mr. Mistoffelees, or Mistoffelees as I elected to call him here, is in fact the magical cat from the Broadway musical, CATS. He has always been one of my favorite because the man who plays him is usually an incredibly talented dancer, but of course I know most people will only be aware of the adaptation we-do-not-speak-of and I needed to clarify that I’m a fan of the musical and NOT the thing that might’ve started 2020. (But also, to credit: the idea to use him did come from a suggestion by one of my discord friends, you know who you are.)  
> 
> 
> I do not know how old English anything works, if it wasn’t clear from literally everything happening here. Don’t bother telling me I used any of the words wrong - I love most anything Shakespeare, and I’ve pretty much memorized all of Hamlet after having had to analyze it twice back in high school, but I haven’t bothered studying the subject-verb-order or literally how to use any of the parts of speech, and therefore don’t usually know what I’m doing with the English language here any more than someone using a printer in 1610 did.  
> 
> 
> The separation of Otto/Hamlet and Martin/Horatio is meant to be blurry. The first few lines I wrote I debated keeping them separate, as if two brains were occupying one body, but that was far too complicated for a basic crack fic and therefore they became the same “people”.  
> 
> 
> This may have come out of a long-term need to make Hamratio canon in my own parallel universe, this also may have come out of the fact that I thoroughly enjoy Hamlet. I know for a fact the idea occurred to me after a full week of listening to Woods of Birnam’s “I’ll Call Thee Hamlet” (which reminded me that Hamlet existed, and spurred a change in this story). In a roundabout way, this is *all* thanks to the Discord server for convincing me to watch Babylon Berlin, finding out about Christian Friedel having the voice of an angel, and then subsequently finding his band. Everything is connected!


End file.
